


Angel to Some, Demon to Others

by ClaryF



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Angels and Demons, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Death, Elysium, Family, Friendship, Gen, Underworld, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 09:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18617641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaryF/pseuds/ClaryF
Summary: Set at the end of World War II, Hades walks through the underworld and meets an unusual child.





	Angel to Some, Demon to Others

He walked through the gardens of his domain, the pomegranate tree standing accusingly behind him. Over 100,000 innocent dead to end a war… over 100,000 for him to sort out. His kingdom was already running out of space from the 6 years of the War, this was a burden he could not afford.

The Lord of the Underworld was old and had lived for millennia, watching humanity grow and thrive despite the many obstacles in their way. He knew they had fought many wars over time but none as deadly or horrifying as the one he had just witnessed. He sighed as he resigned himself to the duty he was bound to fulfil. 

Each soul had a place; to Elysium went the heroes, to The Fields of Punishment the villains, to Asphodel those who were not either. Such a black and white decision to make. To decide whose good outweighed the bad and vice versa. To be the sole mediator between salvation and eternal suffering. The pointlessness of it all struck him like a blade and yet, he had to continue. 

Once again he cursed his offspring, who had begun this whole horrendous affair and turned his family against him, finally leading to the death of his lover and with his children separated from him forever.

With his heart weighing him down he abandoned the safety of his castle and prepared himself to face the countless souls who would beg him to forgiveness, for mercy. They did not understand, the decision was not his to make, he could not be merciful. A person’s life defined their death, he had no part in the final decision. His duty was merely to maintain order within his domain. Nevertheless, humans always found it easier to place blame, to avoid the reality that their crimes were their own.

So went the day, with humans cursing him, spitting on him as they were dragged away to their eternal punishment by the Furies. Others praised and worshipped him as they were escorted to the eternal bliss of Elysium. Only those doomed to Asphodel remained silent, too scared to curse for fear of a worse fate but too bitter to thank.

As the lines of people waned he saw the final victims of the war, the children; and he pitied them. Most were too young to be heroic enough for Elysium so were doomed to Asphodel wandering aimlessly as all memory of their past selves was lost. So much wasted potential shimmered in their faint auras. The children were the guiltless, doomed only by the actions of the men and women who came before them; those willing to see the corpses of their children to fulfil their incessant need for power. Then again, he thought, how are we any different? 

At the end of the line was a young, raven haired child that could be no more than his son’s age. Her brown almond eyes pierced him with a calm comprehension, a striking contrast to the other children’s tears. The nostalgia struck him like his brother’s thunder and he felt his eyes watering once again. To imagine his own children in his domain awaiting their fate he wished he could change and the sudden reminder of their mortality angered and frightened him, giving him a bleak sense of powerlessness in his own realm. 

He strode toward the child who continued to watch him, showing no fear even as he approached her, fire in his eyes and the souls that made up his clothing withering in anxiety as if sensing their master’s distress. 

Only when he was towering in front of her did he stop, her calm demeanour soothing his turbulent heart. This child was not at fault for his failures, she was not responsible for his losses. 

As she finally looked away from his face he watched in amusement as her childlike curiosity took over and she reached out to attempt to touch one of the souls who clothed him. His amusement grew into fascination when she giggled as the soul attempted to escape the girl’s touch. The fearless child’s innocence and naivety struck at a chord deep inside of him, one he had promised to lock away from after the loss of his children and lover. As the walls around his heart cracked the floodwaters of emotion swamped him once again and he reached down to pick up the child, who went willingly into his arms. As she laid her tired head upon his shoulder he cried. He cried for the child in his arms, who would never grow; for his dearest Maria, killed by Zeus in an attempt to stop a prophecy that was destined to happen either way; Nico and Bianca, the children who no longer remembered him and could never remember them lest Zeus find them and seek to finish what he had begun. He cried for Marie and her selfish love, for Hazel and her selfless nature, both wondering forever in Asphodel. Finally, he cried for his loneliness and isolation, for the hatred and fear his family bore towards him and for his wish to be accepted and understood. Even as souls watching him in surprise he cried, not caring about their judgement.

At last, he calmed enough to look once again at the child in his arms and as she looked at him with wise eyes that only children possess she wiped the tears from his eyes and he knew then what he had to do. He carried her back to his home, where she would live in comfort, free to roam and enjoy her days as she pleased. She would be the exception to the rule, she would be the most honoured soul in the Underworld. It was the most he could do for her, the little child who somehow understood the God of the Underworld. 

As he carried her almost sleeping form to the safety of his castle he heard her murmur, “Who are you?” The question shocked him. How could this child trust someone she did not know? And amongst the happy laughter of Elysium, the dreary moans of Asphodel and the agonised screaming of the Fields of Punishment he responded with the only answer he knew he could give:

“Angel to some, demon to others.”


End file.
